


our bodies betray us

by Amymel86



Series: touch changes everything [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sex, F/M, Political Marriage, Smut, Virgin!Jon, Virgin!Sansa, making an heir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 23:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: But how could she make Jon happy? Seven Hells! Only nine moons ago they were siblings! And by the look on Jon's face as he stands stock still in her bed chamber, he's not forgotten that fact either."We don't have to-" he starts in his low gravelly voice.Jon quiets when she huffs and dumps her embroidery into her basket by her feet. "We do, Jon." Sansa folds her hands into her lap. "We do."





	our bodies betray us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> Had most of this written for a week or so now... Vivi just gifted me some delicious smut and Tanya updated her gift fic with some amazing smut too so... here... have this offering of awkward smut, I guess... 😂

The knock at her door echoed around her bed chamber. Sansa forced the lump in her throat to mostly disappear by swallowing - _hard_. "Come in," she called, her voice sounding like someone else's entirely.

The door creaks open and Jon steps inside with those sad eyes of his. Her rooms suddenly feel smaller than they ever had and that expression he wears is vexing her in all sorts of ways. It doesn't normally. Normally, she finds his hesitancy and bastard humble ways endearing. Her husband is no cock-sure, uppity prince, and she is hugely glad of it. But neither of them are particularly revelling in thoughts of what must transpire tonight, and tomorrow night, and for nights after that, too.

When Sansa was a girl, daydreaming of her husband fair, she'd known he would have to take her maidenhead. She'd known it was part of her duty to make her husband happy in the marriage bed and bear him sons.

But how could she make Jon happy? Seven Hells! Only nine moons ago they were siblings! And by the look on Jon's face as he stands stock still in her bed chamber, he's not forgotten that fact either.

"We don't have to-" he starts in his low gravelly voice.

Jon quiets when she huffs and dumps her embroidery into her basket by her feet. "We do, Jon." Sansa folds her hands into her lap. "_We do_."

She takes some time to eye him. Perhaps it is easier for her? Part of her training to be a great lady and wife included the willingness to accept that activities within the marriage bed were for her husband's pleasure and that she would have very little say in the matter. Of course she'd never considered being bedded by her own brother back then, but so much has changed.

"The first time will hurt," he said, eyes dropping to the rushes on the stone floor. "I don't want to hurt you, Sansa."

"I can take a little pain. I'm not a fragile flower."

Jon tuts and shakes his head. She's annoyed him again. Sansa doesn't know why it pleases a small part of her to do so. Sometimes they find themselves  
still acting like bickering brother and sister and not the husband and wife they should be.

_Brother and sister do not do what we are about to do tonight though._

"The maester says it should only sting the first time and the second should be better," she tries again. He had not meant to infer that she were too delicate, she knows this. Her nerves are just a little on edge this evening is all.

The breath Jon expells is a rush of uncertainty. "And you're sure you wouldn't rather take a lover?"

"It's too risky," Sansa shakes her head. "And I trust you, Jon." It's true. There's no one alive that she trusts more than her husband. "Unless... unless you don't think you could?"

He drew a breath, eyes flitting towards her bed. Quite what he sees or envisions there, she's unsure. "We'll see," he says, almost to himself.

Her heart was trying to hammer its way out of her ribs as she stood and untied her robe. Her night shift remained underneith. It made her feel naked in a way. Jon's eyes descended down her frame as quickly as sleet falls from the sky. He licked his lips and stared at the rushes by her slippered feet again. "The maester gave you an oil?"

"Yes." He had told her it would help.

"Have you... applied it?"

"I have."

He nods to the floor and himself. "And you're happy to proceed the way we discussed?"

"Yes," Sansa says, taking a breath and moving towards her bed. She bends at the waist until she can rest her cheek to her furs and reaches down to draw up the fabric of her shift in slowly gathering fingers. She doesn't stop until her legs and rear are exposed.

There's a shaky breath behind her and the fire pops and crackles in the silence afterwards. They'd talked about this - they'd discussed the best way forward. Granted, the discussion was possibly the most awkward one of her entire life, but Sansa and Jon had eventually agreed that if he were to bed her, then keeping the physical contact to what is only necessary for getting his seed into her waiting womb would be best for the both of them.

Once they have a few heirs, they need not even think of this again, but for now, they'd agreed that Jon needed to put babes in his wife's belly.

With her chest flush against the furs, Sansa tries to keep her breathing even while she listens to her broher-come-husband behind her. She hears a fortifying breath and the clink of a buckle and rasp of a belt, a soft thud and Sansa thinks Jon must've discarded of his sword belt. His boiled leather armor is next.

Licking her lips and closing her eyes, Sansa imagines him in his breeches and undershirt. She can hear him pulling at his laces.

She knows what he is to do next. One doesn't grow up with brothers and someone like Theon Greyjoy without overhearing a jape or two centred around men seeing to their own needs when they are in want of a woman. Sansa tries to block that bothersome voice that likes to remind her that Jon once was one of those brothers. _Half_, she whispers back at it, annoyed. Besides, he was never even that. Not truly. _And tonight he'll be my husband - truly._

Opening her eyes, all Sansa can see is the carvings on her headboard. The fur beneath her cheek tickles her nose everytime she inhales. And there are some quick rustling sounds coming from behind her.

Is he managing to do it? Sansa has heard tales of ladies whose older husbands have troubles with their manhoods failing to stiffen. But Jon is not old. He is young and fit and so very strong. He will give her strong babes too, she knows it. But what if he cannot get his manhood to stiffen because of her? Because she was his sister.

_Half._

She hopes he can. This is by no means how she pictured giving away her maidenhead, but she trusts Jon and she knows he's doing this for her. She only hopes he doesn't find it too difficult.

His breathing is uneven now, sometimes it sounds as though he holds onto his breath, only to let it out shakily moments later. And the rhythic rustling has gotten even faster. Sansa wonders what he thinks of as he's stroking himself. Is he even looking in her direction? Or does he have his eyes closed as he thinks of one of the more flirtatious serving maids or a whore from the brothel perhaps? Why does the thought taste sour to her mind? She wants to glance behind herself to look. Maybe he's staring at her naked bottom. She does feel rather exposed. The thought of Jon taking himself in hand while using the image of her own bare flesh as fuel to his passion is... gosh, it shouldn't thrill her, but it does.

Biting on her lip, Sansa splays her legs a little more, arching her back and tilting her hips. If Jon is indeed looking upon her nakedness, then she thinks her cunny may just be visible nestled between her thighs.

"Are you ready?" she hears him ask, voice rough and breathy. Sansa pictures him red faced and panting, like he becomes down in the training yard.

"Yes," she nods, her voice barely a whisper.

There's a hand on her, Jon's warm and gentle fingers curling around her hip before she feels the searching nudge of something betwen her legs. His manhood moves up and down, slipping through the folds of her cunny. Had she used too much oil? He accidently rubs against that sweet little button that Sansa is ashamed to admit she knows feels good to touch, making her draw in a breath.

He centres himself at her entrance and Sansa can hear him suck in a breath as he pushes forward, making her hiss. There is a definite sting as her husband stretches her around himself. He stills and Sansa wants to shout at him to just get it over with.

"Shall I stop?"

She turns her head, seeing him in that strange position behind her, so close and holding on to her naked hips. "No... just... just do it."

He pushes forward slowly with Sansa gritting her teeth as each inch of his thick manhood invades her. There's a pinch that makes her hands grab at her furs in fistfuls, but once he's stopped, once she's taken him all in, once his hips are flush with the round of her bottom and his thighs meet with the backs of hers, Jon releases a groan behind her and at first she wonders if he is in pain too?

"Just stay still a moment," she whispers. "Let me get used to it."

"Alright." His voice sounds strained and his fingers are biting into her hips. All Sasna can feel is the intrusion of his length. She feels so incredibly full - it is a very odd sensation.

This hadn't been part of the plan. Jon was supposed to bring himself close to spilling before they joined. She wasn't meant to still him, slowing the process, but neither of them had accounted for the pain that accompanied a maid being speared by her husband's member for the first time.

_It will be better next time, _s_he_ hopes, closing her eyes and counting each breath.

It feels like an eternity that they stay there, joined, with her bent over the bed. If it weren't for the discomfort and seriousness of the situation, Sansa felt that she may have even giggled at how they found themselves. The thought was highly unlike Sansa though. Sansa would never giggle when decorum dictates that she shouldn't. That was more like Arya. Would Arya have laughed if she were in Sansa's position? The notion made Sansa wrinkle her nose. Jon and Arya were siblings true. Thick as thieves.

Why does it seem too strange to imagine her sister in her place? The familial connection is the same... _but we are not._

"You can move now," she says into the furs beneath her face. The sting has dulled considerably even if the feeling of having Jon inside her is still rather odd.

"You're sure?" He grunts and he really does sound as though he is in pain.

Sansa twists to look back at him again. "Are you alright?"

Biting his lip, Jon only nods. He doesn't look alright though. His face is a deepening shade of red and there's sweat beading on his brow. Sansa says nothing and rests her cheek back down on the furs, her husband slowly pulling his length out of her and pushing in again, repeating the motion more and more, his breaths sounding heavy and measured above her.

"It's just-" he starts, that strain in his voice again, "I've not laid with a woman before," Jon confesses, keeping his thrusts gentle as he talks.

Well, that was unexpected. He'd been a man of the watch, of course. But even Sansa knew that men were prone to breaking vows when it came to the comfort of a woman. At the very least she'd assumed he'd visited a brothel or bedded a maid before heading off to The Wall.

It seems not.

"Oh," is all she can think to say as Jon is clearly struggling to keep to his slow tempo behind her. The discomfort has almost disappeared completely now and Sansa would offer her praises up to The Mother for _that_ small mercy if she still believed in the Gods at all.

_It still feels odd though._

"Does it feel good to you?" She hears herself ask. She watches her hand clench into her furs and Jon slows a little behind her.

"_Sansa_," he puffs, "I don't think-... I don't know if-..."

She can picture him without having to turn and look - he'll be wearing that concerned expression that seems to have made it's home in his features and she knows exactly what it is he's struggling to say.

"I know. I'm sorry. I won't talk while you're-" she can't quite bring herself to say the words right now. "Carry on, Jon," Sansa urges, pushing her bottom back on him a little, making him groan and tighten his hold around her hips.

"Yes," he croaks out on a broken murmur after a while, "it feels good... I'm sorry."

"Our bodies betray us sometimes," Sansa whispers, eyes fixed on the wooden carvings of two wolves frolicking together on her headboard. "It's alright, Jon." She reaches back to put her hand over his where he grips at her hip. "You can go faster."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. The pain is mostly gone."

Sansa feels her husband release his hold on her body to plant his hands on the furs at either side of her waist. He leans over her, his weight making the mattress dip a little before he whispers, "tell me to stop if you need to," and starts to thrust into her in earnest.

At first it is just the speed of his strokes that differ from before, but Sansa quickly comes to notice the way Jon's flesh pounding against hers makes this odd sort of slapping noise. It's all she can seem to focus on - that, and the way his breathing is fast and laboured too. Before long, she feels herself beginning to be jostled with his movements, bumped up and down with the rapidly increasing force of her husband's thrusts. His manhood inside her still feels strange - no longer uncomfortable - but strange.

Jon's rapid, jagged breath is getting louder and louder, and, quite suddenly, his hips surge forward and stay pressed tight up against her as he groans loud and long, pinning her down onto her bed.

Sansa feels a little stunned. She can feel Jon press his forehead between her shoulder blades as he pants into her shift. Was that it? Has he finished? He pulls himself out of her, a wetness following him and trickling down the inside of one of her thighs. His seed! They'd done it!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking we might get more... in Jon's pov maybe?? Not sure... but these two idiots will still be dancing around the "we're only doing this for duty because we can't possibly see each other in a romantic/schexy light ever! No way!" thing because it is _my jam._


End file.
